


Lost and Found

by BlueNerdBird



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Introspection, Recovery, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 23:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20397805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueNerdBird/pseuds/BlueNerdBird
Summary: An injured Sin'dorei warrior revisits her past and begins to heal.





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm new to the whole WoW lore, so if there are any inconsistencies just let me know in a kind manner! This is the first story I've posted here of Lyrel and honestly it's more original content just set in the WoW universe, but I hope you enjoy! If you enjoyed it, let me know and I may post more of her and my other WoW OC's in the future!

Lyrel awoke with a start, as if something were pulling her forward by the chest until she was gasping for breath, fire burning throughout her entire body as she groaned in pain.

“It’s to clear infection, the burn won’t last more than a few hours,” said a calm, even voice. It sounded familiar. Where had she heard that voice before?

She hadn’t opened her eyes and couldn’t move much at all. It felt like a dragonhawk was sitting on her chest as her chest heaved, trying to breathe in the air.

“Where…. Am I,” she managed, voice barely above a whisper. The voice responded in kind, not changing from a smooth even tone.

“In the medic’s tent. You’ve been asleep for nearly a day. Impressive though, considering most people would have taken two or three after having their guts spilled on the ground like that.”

Right, the last thing she remembered was trying to interrupt a chain lightning spell and then… darkness. As if in response, she felt the muscles in her abdomen tense and pain rocked through her as she winced and tried to catch her breath.

“I wouldn’t move. The priests worked hours to put your organs back in place, there’s going to be a bit of soreness.” She wanted to wring his throat, this voice that seemed so calm while her body was on fire.

Opening her eyes and wincing again against the light from lanterns lighting the tent, she did see that the outside was dark. She’d been out all day then, after they had been in the battle that morning. Lifting her head slightly she saw a tall man, and her ears perked up as she saw he was Sin’dorei. Unusual, considering she was helping along a Forsaken warfront.

“Who… are you?” she couldn’t shake the feeling that his voice was familiar. It was all she could manage however between the breaths that set her abdomen on fire.

“My name is Ralofir. It has been some years since we’ve met Lyrel, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t remember me. You were quite young at the time.”

Ralofir was a name that rang a bell in her head, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember any details about him other than she’d heard the name before. It must’ve shown on her face as the man continued, preparing some kind of herbal remedy, but she couldn’t make any details out from the angle she was at.

“I knew your mother and father. There were many battles that I patched them up, and I find it fitting that now I am patching up their daughter.”

The mention of her parents sent a punch through her already inflamed senses. Everything already hurt, she didn’t want to acknowledge the hole that already existed in her soul. Although it probably matched the hole that had been made in her stomach now.

Lyrel didn’t respond for a moment, instead lying her head back onto the makeshift cot. It was cold and unyielding, but that in itself was almost comforting in that moment. She didn’t want to think too deeply into it all, but Ralofir continued to speak.

"You have her face, it’s quite astonishing. If I didn’t know what had happened to them, I would’ve thought it was her when they first brought you in.”

Lyrel fought back a lump in her throat, willing it to turn into steel as she swallowed it down.

“They were quite a power couple. I will say I don’t know if I healed anyone as often as your father, he was quite the reckless fighter.”

Lyrel felt a different sort of fire spark in her body, of a pain that wasn’t any kind of medicine or physical injury.

“The third war was hard on everyone, especially for the Sin’dorei. I’ve never seen someone look so angry while unconscious. You can’t blame yourself for what happened to our people Lyrel.”

Lyrel bit back angry tears.

“You know jack shit,” she bit out, frustration and anger boiling her already burning blood, “It’s Sergeant Silverlight. You don’t know me, we’re not close enough for you to call me anything else.”

Part of her mind felt bad, but his words rang around in her head as she lashed at him. It was the only thing she could lash out at. He turned around, white robes almost glistening in the light as golden seams and patterns swirled around it.

“I would advise against lashing out against the man who has spent the better part of 8 hours tending to your wounds,” he gestured to Lyrel’s battered body, of which she looked upon for the first time and felt the breath get knocked out of her.

She had on a bit of covering for her breasts, but her entire abdomen was exposed as a large scar cut across her middle, crossing nearly from the right side of her hips up to her ribs, right under the breast. It looked deep and angry, still red with recent healing to sew her skin back together.

A few seconds was all she could stand to look at it.

“You should be grateful for that Sin’dorei monk that brought you in. She was adamant about us trying to keep you alive.” RK. It makes sense, the monk that made every attempt to be friends, despite Lyrel keeping her at a distance. She couldn’t keep lying to herself however, RK and Iapah had become friends to her.

And now RK had kept her from being turned to Forsaken.

Lyrel leaned her head back onto the cot, still trying to stem the burning sensation still wracking her body. She didn’t respond to his words, and as annoyingly as before, he took that as a sign to continue talking.

“Have you been back to the ruins Lyrel?” he had to have been doing this to get under her nerves. She just wanted peace and quiet… “If nothing else then to honor their memory. Lashing out at me changes nothing about their fate. They are gone, as are so many of our people, but we rebuild. We remember the Sunwell.”

Anger rose within Lyrel. Burning with the strength of a star, she reached over and picked up a cup of some kind of medicine and chucked it at him. He easily dodged, even with his back turned to her. Grabbing a spoon, she threw that too. A quick dodge, and Ralofir missed the projectile once again.

“Let me go. I can’t take any more of this,” Lyrel said, crying out in pain as she moved to sit up. At that, Ralofir turned to her and tried to keep her laying down.

“You cannot move, your wounds have barely been sewn shut!” for the first time, his voice was slightly raised.

“I’ll be fine. I guess I need to go to the ruins don’t I? Well let me just get out of your hair then,” Lyrel snapped, ears flattened as she cried out again as she rose from the bed, shoving off Ralofir’s attempts to hold her down. Her strength from military training won against the priest and she shoved him off as she stumbled out of the tent, every nerve on fire with each step.

Clad in only cloth trousers and a breast band, Lyrel hobbled across camp, holding her stomach in pain as she saw Forsaken stare at her as she walked by. Limping, spite drove her forward as she made her way to the bat handler.

“I need a flight to the ruins of Silvermoon,” she gritted through clenched teeth, breathing heavily as she held back cries of pain at her barely healed wounds. The Forsaken seemed frightened by her tone, or recognised who she was, and outfitted her with a bat.

While they offered a glance as if to give warning, but one glare from Lyrel kept the words from leaving their mouth entirely.

It wasn’t until she was moaning in pain atop the bat that she wondered why she’d done something so rash. It was just this morning that a blade had nearly sliced her in half, yet here she was riding a bat to her home city.

Her father’s daughter indeed.

She tried, and failed, not to think of Ralofir’s words as the bat soared over the Eastern Kingdoms. What had he been trying to insinuate? That she wasn’t living up to their expectations? Perhaps the snap at him had been undeservedly so, but it didn’t stop the fact that the thought of her parents brought an ache that no medicine could cure, no amount of rest could heal. Ignoring it was easier than acknowledging it, but his words had reopened the wound.

Perhaps that was why she felt tears on her cheeks. She tried to wipe at them, frustrated that they appeared, but it only seemed to call forth even more. Each intake of breath ached her muscles and brought more pain with it.

Each beat of the bat’s wings sent another wave of grief, another wave of searing pain. Faster and faster tears fell, and she knew it wasn’t from flying or trivial matters. As they fell, her breathing got faster.

After a few moments of just tears a sob ripped from her chest, one that seemed to break a dam as more sobs spilled forth, and she felt her chest seize up. Was it from her wounds? Or was her heart just now catching up to the horror?

Either way she couldn’t steady her breathing, it was too much too fast, and she felt the tension in her stomach as her wound began to reopen. Clutching at the bat for dear life, she saw the walls of Silvermoon approach as she used the last of her strength to hold on until darkness took her once more.

\---

Somehow she had managed to hold on as she passed out. A blood soaked bat had flown into Silvermoon that night, an unconscious soldier falling to the ground as it landed. Guards had been sent for, and she was rushed to the nearest priest for immediate care.

She was unconscious until another rider from the front came and informed them of the situation and they put restraints on the wounded warrior to prevent another escape.

It was two days later when she finally awoke. The world was blurred, light once again burning her eyes as she blinked her surroundings into focus.

The pain was significantly less, but her chest felt no less empty. Laying there, the only comparison she could draw was how she felt utterly and completely gutted, both literally and figuratively. It didn’t hurt as badly when she moved to sit up, only a slight pressure where a clean scar now rested diagonally across her stomach, less angry red colored and starting to fade to pink. Running a hand along the fresh line, Lyrel’s mind was unusually blank. Ralofir’s words hadn’t left her mind, and she knew she was overdue for a visit anyway.

It was another half-day before the priest allowed her some leave. She explained where she was going, and what she was doing, and they agreed. They allowed her that much at least.

Having more rest after her wound and subsequent reopening of said wound, Lyrel tread lightly across the city, dressed in nicer commoner clothes. It had been some time since she’d walked around without armor, and she couldn’t help but feel like part of her was missing for it. She felt too open, too vulnerable out in the open with no armor or weapons.

To be fair, they warned that doing so would only worsen the healing that had been done over the past few days.

Stopping by a florist shop, she bought a bouquet of simple red flowers as she left the main gates of the city. It was nice for the time of year, not too warm or cold. She tried to focus on things like that as she made her way to the ruins.

It had been 18 years since she had taken the old road. It had been long since blown to pieces, with many of the buildings that had once lined the street gone, but she knew the way like the back of her hand.

Towards the outskirts of the city, she found the ruins of her childhood home. Running a hand alongside a fallen door frame, she could feel the spirits of her parents linger here still. She should’ve felt any number of things being here, but mostly she just felt empty. She gently laid the flowers by the doorstep.

She could still make out the outline of where the kitchen was, their study, and her old room. Boots crunching on the crumbled walls at her feet, she remembered running the halls as a child and playing soldiers with kids that lived on her street. Ever since she was little, being a soldier was all she’d wanted. To be heroes like her parents were.

No. Had been.

Crossing another threshold, she found herself standing in her parent’s room.

“Hey Mom. Hey Dad.” her voice was unusually quiet. “I don’t…. I don’t know if you’re here right now but I need some help,” she hadn’t expected words to come this easily, but like a waterfall, she found she had no power to stop them, “I’m trying to be the heroes you both were. After the battle for the Sunwell I thought maybe I was, but the world’s a lot bigger than I thought it was. I’m fighting for the Horde now, for Lady Windrunner. I’ve taken a couple hits through the years, but you were the best at teaching me to stand back up.” Tears began to fall, but her voice didn’t waver.

“The Horde has come to mean so much. I… I should say it more but they have been supportive in ways I didn’t expect. I’ve met some companions, and the five of us have been sent on elite missions from the leaders of the Horde. I’m only 34 but I… I’ve risen the ranks so fast. I just hope that I can-” the strength in her legs gave out as she sank to the ground “I hope I can make you proud.”

Unlike before, it was not a dam breaking. There was no violent rush of emotion, or blazing rush of pain. It was almost like Iapah’s healing magic, washing over her in waves, but in a way that pulls together the parts that begin to fall apart.

She can’t help but let a sob escape her chest, and all she can do is hold her shirt close to her chest, balling her fists in the rough material. A warm breeze brushes her hair aside, and she remembered Iapah’s words when she confessed to losing her family to the Scourge.

_"If it's any consolation. The Elder shamans in Mulgore speak about how the ones you love never truly leave you. You feel them on every pleasant breeze and see them beside you when you look onto water.”_

“I’ve never been the religious type but… maybe Iapah was right.” Lyrel sniffed and wiped at her running nose.

“I am ashamed to go back with how I ran. I didn’t try to desert or anything but….” Lyrel sighed, “Hopefully your friend Ralofir can forgive me and explain it to the others.”

Another cooler breeze dried the tears on her face.

“I am trying to be stronger but… it’s hard. There’s so much I need to do better.” Lyrel felt the dragonhawk-weight on her chest start to lift.

Looking up, she saw a bit of a glint coming from underneath a pile of rubble. Curious, she crawled forward a bit and dug through the rock, hand over hand. It took her several minutes, but as she saw what was underneath, all Lyrel could do was sob unevenly.

Gleaming, untarnished silver plate met her eye. Her family’s crest adorned on the side of it, with a few scratches and dents marking otherwise flawless armor.

Her mother’s plate armor.

Pulling it close to her chest, Lyrel hugged the armor piece as she sobbed. It was as close as she could get to hugging her mother, but now she had a memento anchoring her memory in the forefront of Lyrel’s mind.

Her mother was her first trainer, her first support system, and the first one that had been there when things had gone wrong. She’d been the first to support her in lying about her age to join the army early, the first to have her back in a fight. In each of those her father hadn’t been far behind, making Lyrel laugh and unintentionally passing along his reckless habits.

As she hugged the armor, all she could hear was her parents warm congratulations as she was sent to Orgrimmar with a squad of soldiers to represent the Sin’dorei. The horror she felt upon receiving the news that the Scourge had decimated her home city. The grief she felt upon seeing her home burned to a crisp with her parents’ names on the list of the dead.

She hugged the armor tighter as it rushed back to her, the pain she’d held onto for the past five years.

It could’ve been minutes, or an hour later when the tears began to slow. Lyrel couldn’t be sure, but her grip on the armor relaxed a bit as she ran her fingers over the familiar etchings and patterns.

“I miss you guys. So much.” Her admission was the first time she’d said anything of the sort in those five years. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been that honest with herself.

It took a few more minutes for the tears to finally run out as she wiped them away and stood. Cradling the armor like a child, she began to scour her house for anything else that could allow her to keep their memory alive. It took the better part of the day, but she eventually found a simple silver ring with her family’s name inscribed on the inner band, and her old stuffed dragonhawk from when she was a young child. The latter brought another wave of tears and emotion, so she hugged it close and put it in her bag along with the ring.

Those three mementos were the only things rooting her in her past. The rest was unsalvageable, burned, or shattered. It was time for her to return to the front anyway, another night and she’d be recovered enough to don her recovered armor and rejoin the fight.

Despite the new items weighing her bag down, her walk back to Silvermoon was the lightest she felt in years.


End file.
